I Hate Me Too
by daphrose
Summary: "Do you hate me? I know you do. It's okay; I hate me too."


**Wow, it's been a while. Yikes. Sorry about that. Life's been pretty busy lately. But hey, this is my last week of school, so yay! After next week, I should be able to update a little more often (although I do have other projects to work on too).**

 **This one shot popped into my head the other night. It's kinda . . . dark, I guess is the word? But you've come to expect that from me, haven't you? There are a lot of trigger warnings for this one, including some pretty serious depression. And, ah, it doesn't have a happy ending. At least, not yet. I'll explain at the end.**

 **A good soundtrack for this chapter would be "Would It Matter" by Skillet. Although, the beat doesn't match with the poem, so I'd suggest listening to it only during the prose part of the story.**

 **So anyway, get ready for some pretty heavy stuff. I don't own Lab Rats, etc.**

* * *

 *** * * I Hate Me Too * * ***

* * *

 _Do you hate me?  
I know you do.  
It's okay;  
I hate me too._

 _I hear you lie  
When you say, "I love you."  
Really, it's fine;  
I hate me too._

 _Don't hide behind the mask,  
Go ahead and run me through.  
Stop lying to me;  
I hate me too._

 _I laugh at stupid things;  
You think I've lost a few screws.  
I know I'm embarrassing;  
I hate me too._

 _I know I spend forever  
On makeup and shampoo.  
You call me a clown;  
I hate me too._

 _While I tried being myself,  
You only withdrew.  
Step back a little further;  
I hate me too._

 _So things started changing;  
I made myself new.  
But I can't change my flaws;  
I hate me too._

 _I promise you won't hurt me;  
Just stick to what's true.  
I know you hate me;  
I hate me too._

 _Don't spare my feelings;  
Give me what is due.  
Just blurt out the truth;  
I hate me too._

 _I'm an awful person;  
I can't find my breakthrough.  
It's okay to say you hate me;  
I hate me too._

 _No one understands why  
I put myself down like I do.  
But I know the reason;  
I hate me too._

 _So many mistakes in my life  
That I can't seem to undo.  
Just say you hate me;  
I hate me too._

Bree pulled her earphones out and paused the song. As much as the hardcore music related to her life, it occasionally made things worse. It was one of those days where even her favorite things upset her for no reason at all.

She had bionics and, frankly, a wonderful life. Still, she could never shake these feelings. It's not like she _wanted_ them. They popped up without warning, and while she never succumbed to her deepest despair, they hurt—a lot.

Bree tapped her pencil on the paper, blinking slowly. "Rhyming sucks," she muttered. "I should've done free verse."

The poem was almost complete; Bree had determined that it only needed one more stanza. The only thing was, she didn't know what to say next. She had expressed most of her feelings, and coming up with one more rhyme for "too" was harder than she thought.

After much searching and thinking, Bree sighed and closed the notebook. She could write down her deepest, darkest feelings later. She threw the book into the nightstand drawer and stood up. Almost immediately she sank back onto the bed. With great effort, she pulled herself up and to the door.

Bree straightened her shoulders and put her hand on the knob. "Time to go be someone I'm not for my family," she muttered. "I'm not weak. Bree Davenport is not weak. She won't give in to this." Her fingers grasped the knob, but before she knew what she was doing, she leaned her forehead on the door. No tears came.

"You'll make it through," she whispered. "One more day, Bree. I . . . I know I'm a disappointment to everyone, but I've still got to be a part of my family. Smile, Bree. Fake a smile."

* * *

"Bree?" Leo walked down the hall, calling his sister's name. "Where are you? Mom's got a movie set up downstairs. I know you're not into all the family stuff, but Big D at least wants you to come down for a few minutes. Bree?"

Leo opened the door to the guest bedroom and peeked inside. It was one of Bree's favorite places to retreat. The room was empty, but Leo suddenly understood why Bree liked it so much. It was quiet and serene, and the glowing rays of the sunset streamed through the window.

Honestly, Leo was worried about Bree sometimes. Lately she had been extremely aloof—even more so than usual. Most of the time she locked herself up in the guest room and stayed in there for hours. Leo wondered what she did in there.

As Leo stood up to leave, the edge of his shirt got caught on the knob of the nightstand drawer. He yanked to get it loose, and it worked, but the resulting force sent him stumbling backwards. Leo shook his head and smoothed out his shirt. He noticed that the drawer had opened, so he went to close it. As he did, however, he caught sight of something inside.

"Whose is this?" he said, picking up the notebook. The cover was hidden by black tape, although there were cracks where the original pink design could be seen. "I should probably put it back. It might be Bree's. I shouldn't be snooping."

Nonetheless, his curiosity got the better of him. With a quick glance around, Leo flipped open the book and read the contents. His eyes grew wider and wider with each word. On thing in particular that caught his attention was a poem titled "I Hate Me Too."

"Leo?"

Leo looked up to see Bree standing in the doorway. Her hand was pressed against the frame, and he could see her arm shaking.

"What are you doing with that?" she asked in a hoarse voice. She sped over and ripped the book out of his hands.

"I-I found it by accident," Leo stammered. "But . . . Bree . . ."

"No," she whispered, looking down at the notebook. "Don't say anything." She swallowed. "You read it, didn't you?"

"Not all of it. But . . . enough."

Bree's lip twitched. "I don't need you to fix me!" she screamed. "Stop thinking I'm weak!"

"I never said you were. Bree, I think we need to talk."

"No we don't. I'm just fine."

"Clearly you're not."

"It's just a stupid poem. It . . . it was something for school."

"Bree, you can't expect people to stop lying to you if you keep lying to them."

Bree stiffened. "Fine. It's not for school. Just . . . admit you hate me."

"I do not!"

"You do too! Why wouldn't you? I've made enough mistakes."

"Everyone makes mistakes."

"Not like I do." Bree sighed. "No, I'm not going to talk about this. Leo, forget this ever happened." Bree ran out of the room without another word.

"No, Bree, I won't forget," Leo whispered.

* * *

Bree sat on the rooftop and watched the sun rise in the sky.

She was a mistake. She made too many mistakes. Why else would people hate her? After all, she had barely any friends at school. Her brothers teased her nonstop, and sometimes it seemed too painful to be a joke.

She had smashed her chip. That was only the latest thing in a series of mistakes that made people hate her more. There was no way forgiveness was real. She hurt people too much and too often for them to accept her.

Bree picked up her pencil and opened the book. She had her last stanza.

 _I can't it confess to my family;  
This topic's too taboo.  
The truth hurts too much;  
They can't know that I hate me too._

"Why can't I be a better person?" she whispered. "Why can't I be strong like Adam? Or smart like Chase? Why can't I stop messing things up? Why can't I be a better sister? Daughter? Friend?"

The pencil fell from Bree's fingers, rolled down the slanted roof, and dropped into the bushes below. She didn't even notice.

A single tear rolled off Bree's cheek and splashed on the notebook. _I wish I could love me._

* * *

 **Hey, I said it would be deep. And sensitive. And not have a good ending. Not yet, anyway. Okay, audience participation time. I want** ** _you all_** **to write the ending (or endings). If you'd like to take up the challenge, write a one-shot kind of "sequel" to this and let me know so I can check it out. The conditions:**

 **1) Leo and Bree must be the main characters. 2) It cannot be higher rated than a T. 3) No suicide or self harming in the story. (If you desperately want to make allusions to it, fine.) 4) One of the genres must be hurt/comfort. 5) It must have a happy-ish kind of ending. (Better than this one, anyway.) 6) You must give me credit. 7) PM when it's published so I can read it.**

 **This isn't a contest or anything; there won't be any winners. It's more of a prompt kind of thing. There's no deadline; if you read this three years after the published date and still want to write something, go ahead!**

 **I leave for summer camp on Sunday and come back next Friday, so it would be neat if there were at least a few stories for me to read when I came back. :)**

 **Sorry for being gone for so long. I'll try to update WDF before I leave. After I get back, hopefully I'll have more time to write. Thanks for reading, all! I know this wasn't my best work. Reviews are still welcome, even if you think this stinks. And be sure to let me know if you think you might want to write a sequel. I'm fine if a lot of people write them. I'd like to see the different ideas y'all come up with. Anyway, hope you liked it, and see you soon!**


End file.
